Of Phthia. Large possessions left I there When I came hither in an evil hour; And thither I shall carry with me gold And ruddy brass, and women of fair forms, And burnished steel⁠—the spoils I won in war. The prize he gave me, Agamemnon, son Of Atreus, takes, with many insults, back. Bear him this message⁠—give it openly, That others of the Greeks may be like me Indignant should he impudently dare To wrong them also:⁠—Let him ne’er again, Though shameless, dare to look me in the face. I will not join in council or in act With him: he has deceived and wronged me once, And now he cannot wheedle me with words. Let once suffice. I leave him to himself, To perish. All-providing Jupiter Hath made him mad. I hate his gifts; I hold In utter scorn the giver. Were his gifts Tenfold⁠—nay, twenty-fold⁠—the worth of all That he possesses, and with added wealth From others⁠—all the riches that flow in Upon Orchomenus, or Thebes, the pride Of Egypt, where large treasures are laid up,